


brilliance, luster, fire

by tirralirra



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Case Files of Jeweler Richard, Important! See chapter notes for warnings, Jewelry, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, University, gemstones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28500012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirralirra/pseuds/tirralirra
Summary: Atsumu meets a man like a living jewel.....AKA The Case Files of Jeweler Kiyoomi(A Jeweler Richard Fusion)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Tags and content warnings will update with each chapter.**  
>  **TW:** Harassment, Attempted/minor physical assault
> 
>  **Additional note: Age difference tag.** I want to be transparent that in the original novels, which (spoiler!) ends with an arguably romantic relationship between the main characters, the two characters start out at age 28 and 20. This has carried over to this AU, though Sakusa's age may not be explicitly stated. If that makes you uncomfortable, please do not proceed.

===

Atsumu is tired. It had been a long day of classes, followed by a brutal volleyball practice session where he flubbed his new serve repeatedly, and finally his part time job at the izakaya ended with escorting an unruly drunkard out. He had a pitcher of beer thrown on him for the trouble. Atsumu can still feel the unpleasant stickiness on his skin, despite cleaning up as best as he could before leaving work.

It’s now nearing midnight. He scrubs a hand through his blond locks in frustration, tramping through Yoyogi Park on the way to the station, and debates calling Osamu to share in his misery, if only a little.

As he rounds a corner, a loud clatter followed by jeers startles him. He lifts his eyes from his phone to see a rowdy group of drunkards a short distance ahead. Some of them are tipping liquid from cans over a figure on the ground.

Without thinking, Atsumu rushes forward, calling out as he jogs up to the group. “Hey! Wait!” He calls out, and comes to a stop, stepping carefully in front of the person on the ground as a group of men squint at him in hazy surprise.

“Hey, kid, this ain’t none of your business,” one of the drunks slurs at Atsumu.

Another leans forward with a sneer. “Yeah, what’s the rush? Seems to me like you need to cool down,” he taunts, and splashes the rest of his beer can at Atsumu’s face. 

_Ah, what the hell, what’s one more beer bath on top of this shit for a night anyways._ Atsumu winces and blinks the cheap beer from his eyes, but throws on his cockiest grin. “You know, you’re right, but I gotta say, you folks don’t look like you’re usually in the business of harassing people in parks, just like I’m not usually in the business of calling the police.”

He holds up his phone, with the speaker already emitting a ringing tone. “So maybe you should just be on your merry way and call it a night.”

There is a beat where the soft ringing is the only noise, and the group seems to size up Atsumu. One of the drunkards spits at Atsumu’s feet and turns away. “Let’s go, this nosey punk and that pretty boy ain’t worth it.” The group start to leave with low muttering, but eventually lean into each other and laugh like the careless drunks they are without another thought to the pair they leave behind.

 _Pretty boy?_ Atsumu thinks to himself as he turns to look at the person behind him, and almost drops his phone in surprise. In his hand, the call picks up. 

_“Tsumu? Why in the damn hell are you calling me at one in the morning—”_ comes Osamu’s tinny voice, but Atsumu quickly lifts it up and cuts him off.

“Sorry I’ll explain later gotta go bye,” he says in a rush and hits the end call button. 

_Is this what they mean by ‘fate’?_ Atsumu thinks, but any actual words die on his tongue as he stares down at the beautiful stranger.

A man sits before him, dressed in a fine, form-fitting suit that accentuates his lean build, but broad shoulders. A crumpled mask dangles from one ear, revealing exquisitely shaped features and a fine bone structure, though they’re currently in a grimace. He has sharp, dark eyes and two perfectly aligned beauty marks above one elegant brow that arches in...disgust? Annoyance? All topped by a head of sleek, black curls pulled into a side part, undoubtedly finely styled, but unfortunately soaked in beer. 

He is one of the most—no, he must be _the_ most beautiful person Atsumu has ever seen. It’s like something out of a romantic drama, saving a mysterious, gorgeous stranger like some kind of destined meeting.

The stranger, still sitting on the pavement, sighs heavily at Atsumu’s prolonged stare. Atsumu belatedly extends a hand to help the man up, but he ignores the proffered hand and stands up with all the dignity a man dripping in alcohol can muster.

“Are you o-okay?” Atsumu finally finds his words only to trip over his own tongue, and fights down a blush. He can hear the ghost of his brother’s laugh and inwardly cringes. _Losing your words in front of a pretty face, huh, Tsumu?_ The man seems to gather himself together mentally before turning to face Atsumu. Atsumu averts his eyes for a second and tries not to seem like he had been ogling the sharp profile and tall, lean body, before looking back at the man in front of him.

“...You saved me,” the man states, not in appreciative wonder, but with a slight sense of disbelief, like of all people that would’ve come to his rescue, Atsumu does not fit the description.

“Um, yeah. Glad to be of service, er…”

“Sakusa. Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he states primly. He reaches into his suit jacket to pull out a pack of cleaning wipes, to Atsumu’s surprise. He takes a few and begins methodically wiping his hands and working up to his face, removing the soiled mask in the process. He then offers the pack to Atsumu with a pointed stare. “And you are?”

Atsumu hastily takes a few wipes for himself and mimics Sakusa’s motions.

“Miya Atsumu. I’m a student at Waseda by day, volunteer park patrol by night,” he grins at Sakusa, to no effect. If anything, Sakusa’s brows dip in annoyance. Atsumu falters a bit, but he presses on. “I was just passing through on my way home, and couldn’t leave such a good looking—uh,” Atsumu stutters again as Sakusa’s brows twitch downwards further, “a good...person to the likes of them! A-anyways, can I help you to the police box? You should really file a report and all that.”

There is a long pause as Sakusa seems to weigh Atsumu’s sincerity with a measured gaze.

“...Thank you. I will take you up on that offer.”

Atsumu also offers to carry the small rolling suitcase by Sakusa’s side when he notices one wheel is broken, but Sakusa declines. On the short walk to the police box and through the process of giving their statements, Sakusa recounts his objectively awful night.

He was on his way back to his hotel when the taxi driver lost their way, perhaps new to the job or the area. Though Sakusa, familiar enough with Tokyo, attempted to direct the driver towards his hotel, he eventually ended the trip when the driver insisted his way was correct. He was accosted by the drunkards on his way towards the taxi stand on the other end of the park.

“Hotel? Are you in town for sightseeing? Business?” One of the officers taking their statements asks.

“Business. I’m a jeweler,” Sakusa responds, and produces his business card and a foreign passport. The latter is somewhat surprising to Atsumu; he did not expect Sakusa to be—British?

Then, he bends down to open his suitcase, and Atsumu nearly gasps when he pulls out one of the boxes inside to reveal its contents.

The box is plain and small, but holds a series of plastic bags neatly lined up. On closer inspection, each bag has a series of stones inside. The bag Sakusa holds up for their examination has maybe thirty or so bead-sized, bright yellow gemstones. They look like someone captured sunlight in a crystal, shining brilliantly even in the harsh fluorescents of the police box.

“Are these...all gemstones?” The officers look as flabbergasted as Atsumu feels.

“Yes. Sapphires, in this box at least. My clients make requests and I procure jewels to fulfill them. I usually travel to their home to sell them. As such, I am often out late, meeting them after their day’s work is done.” 

There must be at least twenty such boxes in the suitcase. It’s unfathomable to Atsumu that a person could so nonchalantly walk around with a small fortune on hand.

The officers look sort of mystified, as though they can’t tell if such a person can be real, or how such a person would end up in this situation. Sakusa’s matter-of-fact retelling and humorless expression seem to keep their commentary at bay though, until they turn to Atsumu.

“Well, I can’t say I understand it all, but you were certainly lucky that this young man showed up,” the older officer says. “We’ll need your name as well, for the statement.”

Atsumu starts a little, the first time being addressed directly in the exchange. He nods, and writes his name down on the paper the officer hands him.

“Yuu? Tasuku?” The younger officer tries to confirm the reading of Atsumu’s name.

“It’s ‘Atsumu’,” he corrects him.

“Well, you certainly meet your name’s expectations, huh, Atsumu-kun,” the officer laughs a little. “‘ _To help someone’_ and all that.” Atsumu feels a familiar flush creep up his neck, but merely nods in response, and answers the rest of their questions dutifully.

It’s nearing half past one by the time they finish at the police box. Atsumu offers to wait with Sakusa for his taxi outside.

“I am truly grateful for your help earlier. It could have been much worse had they tried to get my case,” Sakusa says, gesturing to the suitcase at his side as they stand outside.

“Your case? Heck, I’m just glad they didn’t have the chance to do anything worse to you, as good looking as you are,” Atsumu blurts, then fights down a blush. “I mean, well dressed and looking fancy like you do. They could’ve just as easily robbed you or assaulted you further. You could’ve gotten real hurt.”

Sakusa regards him carefully, and Atsumu shifts a little under the weight of his gaze, dark eyes revealing no hint at his thoughts.

“Indeed. It was truly lucky you were there,” Sakusa finally says.

Atsumu can’t think of anything else to say after that, and Sakusa remains reticent beside him. A taxi finally pulls up, and Sakusa moves to leave. Atsumu suddenly feels like somehow, the machinations of the universe have led to this one odd moment at 1:37 a.m. on the outskirts of Yoyogi Park, and he has to seize this moment. Fate, like he first thought, but not of the romantic variety.

“Do you...do you grade jewelry, too? Like rings, or whatever…” Atsumu blurts out, as Sakusa opens the door.

Sakusa looks back at him, an odd look on his face. Then, he pulls out a small wallet from the inner suit pocket, and hands Atsumu a business card.

“Please call the number listed. We can arrange to meet close to where you live, if that is most convenient to you,” Sakusa says, business-like, but not unkindly. If anything, Atsumu feels like Sakusa looks at him with new interest.

“So—”

“We’ll meet again, Mr. Helpful,” Sakusa says with a quick, small smile.

Atsumu would say more, but the mere sight of it on such a beautiful face stops the words in his throat. He can only muster up a polite wave as the door closes and the taxi pulls away into the night.

===

Later that night, well morning, really, after Sakusa departs in the new taxi and Atsumu finally makes his way home, Atsumu fiddles with the business card in his hand. One side is in English, the other in Japanese. It reads:

 _Jewelry Étoile_ _  
_ _Kiyoomi Sakusa_ _  
_ _Gemologist_ _  
_ _2F 7-24-1 Ginza, Chuo-ku, Tokyo 104-006 Japan_ _  
_ _Mob 090-042-2251_  
_Mail kiyoomi_sakusa@jewelryetoile.com_

His phone dings.

 **Samu:** Hey, what was that call earlier? You owe me an explanation.

 _I met the most beautiful person today,_ Atsumu seriously thinks about typing, still staring at the business card.

 **Me:** Nothing, just being a good citizen. Helping a stranger out.

 **Samu:** ??  
**Samu:** You?! A good citizen? I’ll believe it when I see it.

 **Me:** Screw you!  
**Me:** Why are you still up.

 **Samu:** Mom’s about to leave for her shift.

 **Me:** Tell her I say hi.

 **Samu:** Yeah yeah, will do. ‘night Tsumu.

 **Me:** g’night.

He tosses his phone onto the bed and ambles over to the fridge. Reaching past several condiments, he pulls out the small velvet box tucked in the back. Inside, the small pink jewel set in the silver ring remains unchanged from the last time Atsumu checked it. 

Atsumu pulls the ring out and holds it up to the light. The color of the jewel is fascinating, even in the dingy lighting of Atsumu’s apartment. It’s not so much a vivid magenta as it is a deep, rose hue, elegant and mystical all at once.

He turns the ring in the light, watching the small facets on the jewel twinkle. Then, he tucks it back into the box, and places the box safely back behind the miso.

He needs to get some sleep. It may be Saturday now, but Atsumu has an early afternoon practice later today, and after that, well, there’s a phone call he needs to make.


	2. The Support of the Pink Sapphire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW/CW:** Mentions of domestic abuse. Mentions of attempted suicide/permanent injury. Please see additional notes at the end for explanations (with minor spoilers).

It’s the first time Atsumu has been to Ginza. Sports-scholarship, from-a-single-parent-household student finances aside, Atsumu doesn’t have any reason to explore the fashionable, high-end district in Tokyo. He’s lived in the grand city for just over a year now, but it’s still not home to him. Home is a little further south, the crowds and voices a little warmer, a little brighter to him. 

Besides, busy as he is, slogging through coursework, pushing through practice, clearing tables and taking orders in late evenings, and squeezing in extra practice or conditioning around all of that does not leave much time for him to explore the vast urban mazeways of Tokyo.

Atsumu waits in front of the appointed building, rocking back and forth slightly in his sneakers and digging his hands deep into the front pocket of his hoodie in the early spring chill. When he finally spies Sakusa rounding the corner, he suddenly feels woefully underdressed.

Sakusa is as impeccably dressed as before, this time in a light gray, three-piece suit over a blue shirt. He pulls a new rolling suitcase behind him. A black face mask obscures most of his lower face, but that doesn’t stop the appreciative head turns from the people he passes on the street.

It’s Sunday, so the streets of Ginza are full of shoppers and tourists alike, a lively weekend atmosphere surrounding them. Atsumu gives a friendly wave to Sakusa, a little flustered by the attention. 

“Miya-san. My apologies for making you wait,” Sakusa greets him. He is exactly on time, 2 p.m. on the dot.

“Ah, no. I would’ve been early either way because of the trains, no worries,” Atsumu flaps a hand lazily in dismissal.

Sakusa nods, then gestures to proceed towards the café on the second floor of the building.

Once inside, Sakusa asks what Atsumu would like and comes back to their table with the requested coffee, a bottle of water, and several pastries. The pastries must be overpriced in a cafe like this, so the amount is surprising. Sakusa must have quite a discerning sweet tooth, Atsumu observes, given the scrutiny he gives all the sweets before selecting one.

Finally set in his choice, Sakusa removes the mask over his face, pocketing it neatly. In the light of day, not covered in beer, the man is absolutely stunning. Atsumu was right with his first impression—his hair _is_ elegantly styled, curly and shiny. Though Atsumu has a vague idea of others finding him attractive—he had a somewhat ardent fan club in high school, after all—it can’t compare to the quality of the man’s appearance before him. He watches the other in mild fascination, so caught up in the sight he nearly jumps when Sakusa finally addresses him.

“I should thank you again for your assistance the other night,” he starts. Atsumu rubs the back of his neck bashfully.

“Ah, well. Anyone would’ve done the same, I’m sure,” Atsumu says, the need to deflect deeply ingrained.

Sakusa shakes his head. “I disagree. You had no obligation to help me, and as you said, the situation could have gone much worse, for either you or me. We were outnumbered, and they were intoxicated.”

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t go sideways,” Atsumu says. “‘Sides, I probably could've held my own, if it came down to it. I am an athlete and all...”

“You said you attend Waseda University, correct?”

“Yup.”

“Then, Miya-san, please tell me. What does a university student like yourself have the need for from my services?” Sakusa says. He doesn’t sound condescending, merely curious. It’s fair, after all; not many students would probably be looking for the appraisal of valuable jewelry. 

“Please, call me Atsumu,” Atsumu tries not to blush at how forward he sounds, unintentionally. A lifetime of twin-dom is a hard habit to break. Sakusa doesn’t seem to react.

“I have a ring,” Atsumu starts again, digging into his bag to pull out the velvet box “And I’m hoping you could grade it.”

He opens the box, and slides it across the table towards the other man, a little self-consciously. They’re tucked away in a booth at the back corner of the café, but Sakusa certainly draws the eyes of anyone in the vicinity. He feels a little nervous having the ring out in the open after it’s been hidden away for so long.

Sakusa looks down at it for a few moments, as if in deep thought. Then, he reaches into his pockets and pulls out a pair of white gloves, pulling them on neatly before picking up the ring from the box and examining it. A small tool of some kind—a mini magnifying glass?—appears in Sakusa’s free hand, and they sit in the relative quiet of the café while Atsumu leaves the man to his work.

The jewel itself is very small, perhaps only the size of a typical stud earring or even smaller. In the brighter light of day, the color is even more lustrous and fine.

“This is a pink sapphire,” Sakusa finally says, shutting the little magnifying tool with a click and placing the ring back in the box. 

“You can tell, just from looking?” Atsumu asks, mildly awestruck.

“Indeed, almost certainly,” Sakusa says, “though the professional grading would confirm that, and much more besides. But tell me, if I may be so bold, why are you looking to have this ring examined?”

“It’s an heirloom from my grandmother. She died when I was in high school. She always insisted that it was a fake...and we don’t really have this kind of thing at home otherwise, so I wouldn’t know any better. Always wanted to get it checked out,” Atsumu finishes with a shrug.

“Why now, of all times?” Sakusa asks, looking pointedly at Atsumu.

“I just...never got around to it, after she died. I thought it might be some kind of fate, meeting you like I did,” Atsumu offers, hesitantly, but Sakusa seems to accept that answer.

Sakusa clasps his hands together and looks out the window next to their table. He purses his lips in thought, then looks back at Atsumu.

“‘Grading’ is a term we use for diamonds only. What you’re asking for is an ‘appraisal,’ or ‘valuation.’ I can tell you right now that this jewel is real, but if you wish to know more, that is what you would be paying for.”

“However,” he goes on, before Atsumu can really process all of that, “I must raise a point of concern—you’re entrusting this possibly valuable item to someone you just met?” Sakusa tilts his head and peers at Atsumu across the table. He suppresses a shiver at the intense scrutiny from such a beautiful face.

“I mean, I met you the other night…” Atsumu starts to protest. Sakusa gives him a flat look, those elegant brows wrinkling with skepticism.

“We’re essentially strangers, I could be even worse than those drunks we met at the park,” Sakusa counters.

Atsumu leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and considering the man before him. He huffs a laugh after a moment. 

“You know, somehow, I don’t think someone who would say all that would really be trying to steal it. Heck, I could be cheating you too, you don’t know that either—though I’m not,” Atsumu finishes. “Look, I took lots of pictures of the ring, even printed out copies for you and me, just to document it all. I read that that’s the type of thing you do for this kind of work.”

Atsumu rustles in his bag for the packet of photos and looks away from Sakusa’s scrutiny to continue. “I don’t know what else to tell you. You already know who I am from our statement at the police box, and vice versa…”

When Atsumu finally pulls out the photos and looks up after placing them on the table, he feels mildly dumbstruck.

Sakusa seems to take in the spread of Atsumu’s entire being in one long look: his worn hoodie, his disheveled, unstyled mop of blond hair, the half-finished coffee in front of him, the well-loved chest bag that held the ring and the photos, and the velvet box on the table in front of him. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what Sakusa’s looking for, but after a short eternity, he nods. “It will cost between 3000 and 5000 yen.”

“Huh, less expensive than I thought,” Atsumu murmurs.

“It would be far more expensive to have it evaluated with a specialist company abroad, but the domestic service in Japan will be as I stated. Shall we proceed?”

“Yes!” Atsumu all but shouts. “Please,” he nearly forgets to tack on. Sakusa just nods again, and gently closes the clamshell jewelry box before him, then tucks it into the case by his side. 

“One last thing,” Atsumu says, as they clear their table. Sakusa didn’t touch the other pastries, and only sipped from the bottle of water, though he motions for Atsumu to take the leftovers. “How long will this take?”

“It should be anywhere from one to four weeks,” Sakusa answers, and Atsumu nods in affirmation. They both stand to leave. After a moment’s pause where it seems like Sakusa might shake his hand, might bow, or might not do anything at all, Sakusa holds out his hand.

“Then, Miya-san, I will be in touch,” he says, and Atsumu takes Sakusa’s still-gloved hand.

“Really, please, call me Atsumu,” he says again. Even after all these years, he’s not used to the name Miya. Miya-san is for their father. Not himself, not Osamu.

Sakusa looks a little conflicted. “I’m not used to calling my clients by their first name in this country,” he says, and frowns a little, “but I suppose, if you insist. Then, Atsumu-san, I will call when the process is complete.” And with that, Sakusa gives another small, pleasant smile, and turns to leave. 

Atsumu nods, still a little stunned by all their whole conversation, and watches as Sakusa exits the fashionable café, turning heads once again with his tall figure and refined presence.

===

The peak of spring arrives with a flurry of cherry blossoms and Atsumu enters his second year at university without much other fanfare. Classes have yet to really pick up this early in the term. As for volleyball, the Kurowashiki tournament is fast approaching in May, but otherwise Atsumu breathes a little easier with the current training designed to test and integrate the new first year players.

Atsumu arrives at the same café in Ginza on a Thursday afternoon before practice. The crowds are much thinner today, owing to it being a weekday, early afternoon. Atsumu doesn’t have class for the rest of the day. It’s a few minutes after their agreed-upon time.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to make you wait,” he says, when he plops into the same booth as before in front of Sakusa, still a little out of breath after the quick sprint from the station.

Sakusa acknowledges his apology with a nod. There’s already a cup of coffee, still steaming, on the table in Atsumu’s place, and Atsumu gratefully takes a sip.

Sakusa waits for Atsumu to set the drink down again before speaking.

“I must say, this was a most intriguing request,” he starts, pulling the box out and placing it in front of Atsumu. Then, his gaze sharpens abruptly. “But first, are you aware that this ring may have been stolen before it came into your possession?”

Atsumu sits, dumbfounded. Then, before he can help it, a laugh bubbles out of him. Truly magnificent; this really feels more fated with every development. Sakusa stares at him, frowning slightly in response.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Atsumu says, loudly, gleeful. Sakusa’s face drops into a frown.

“Please, collect yourself,” he hisses, then clears his throat. “And, if you would, explain.”

Atsumu sighs, relieved and excited all at once. Perhaps, this mystery will be solved once and for all. “I’m very sorry for misleading you like this, Sakusa-san. I’m not trying to make a fool of you, promise. Rather, the opposite? If anything, I think now more than ever before that you are the right person for this job.”

His words don’t do much to placate the crease in Sakusa’s brow, so Atsumu claps his hands together and bows slightly in apology. “You’re right, this is a stolen item—but it is an heirloom of a sort as well. It’s a bit of a long story…” he looks to follow Sakusa’s lead, and the man simply nods for him to continue.

They order another round of drinks—bottled water again for Sakusa, and another coffee for Atsumu. As soon as they settle down once again, Atsumu starts his story.

===

Atsumu’s grandmother’s name was Ono Haruyo. She lived through the war, married and then divorced a man shortly after, and found herself providing for her young daughter as a single woman. Certainly not easy by any measure, especially in those days.

She resorted to pickpocketing—was notorious in Osaka for her skills, in fact. Light Fingers Haru could lift a wallet from the inner pocket of a suit without any trouble. She only stole from the wealthy, though, and always left a portion of the contents in the wallets and purses she lifted.

(“I always pictured her as a fierce and proud type of woman,” Atsumu says, almost wistfully. “She didn’t take crap from anyone, not even the yakuza of the time. But my mom—Naomi—she hated Granny for it.“ No doubt that she deeply resented the fact that such money had gone to raise her.

Sakusa doesn’t say anything to this, seeming content to listen to the story without comment or barely any expressions at all. Atsumu continues.)

Though Haruyo only lifted wallets or unattended purses, one evening, a young woman at the train station caught her eye. Well-dressed, beautiful, undoubtedly well-off, and wearing the most marvelous gem on her left ring finger. She was worlds away from Haruyo’s own reality. They got on the train together, and by the time Haruyo alighted at the next stop, the ring was in her pocket.

The rare occasions that Haruyo stole something other than money, it would not stay long in her possession, sold off quickly to make rent or buy food. However, something about this ring caught her fancy. It inspired her imagination, what little of it could be dredged up in the otherwise drab and dismal life she lived everyday. She squirreled the ring away instead, buried it in a bag of rice.

(At this point in the story, Sakusa seems almost offended at the idea of the precious ring shoved into a heap of rice, but Atsumu presses on.)

The next day, there was a commotion at the train station. A young woman leapt in front of an arriving train. Haruyo’s friends passed along the juicy news of a rich daughter, betrothed in a high-profile wedding, who lost the engagement ring and aimed to give her life in recompense. She survived, they said, albeit barely.

How dramatic, said Haruyo, but inside she knew. It was the same woman from before; it must be. The guilt stirred, then itched, then clawed. She turned to run home and fetch the ring, somehow thinking of how to make amends, but she was arrested before she made it home. In her pockets, they found the evidence of her “job” from earlier that day.

She received a harsh sentence. After serving five years in prison, she came home to a daughter well into elementary school, and well aware of the stain on their family’s name from her crimes. 

“Granny’s friends welcomed her home anyways, and they surprised her with a welcome back gift. It was the ring. The police never found it,” Atsumu explains.

“Mom though, she couldn’t get away from Granny fast enough. She graduated, became a nurse, got married and moved away to Kyoto. Granny stayed in Osaka. Mom had a new name, a new life. And then she had me and my brother.”

This next part Atsumu doesn’t relay to Sakusa, still tender to its barbs even a decade and change later. As it turned out, their birth father was a piece of scum, to put it lightly. First he was unreliable, and irresponsible. Then, he was violent. 

Osamu was often sickly when they were younger; towards the end of their mother’s first marriage, Atsumu remembers being bundled off to Osaka for the weekends, so Osamu could rest in peace under the care of Granny. It was maybe one of the few, if not only, times their mother relied on her mother for anything as an adult. By the time the twins returned home, the broken glass would be cleaned up or the cheap dishes replaced, and their father would be off somewhere. Their mother was often short with her temper, but she would hug them ever so tightly every time they returned.

Atsumu picks up the story diplomatically for Sakusa.

“Mom divorced our father pretty early on. My brother and I visited Granny for the weekends a lot right before that all happened, and that’s when I discovered the ring.”

Osamu slept most of the time they were at Granny’s. She would be busy tending to him or other housework. Atsumu had to find other ways to entertain himself. As a curious kid, that sometimes meant getting into things while exploring their grandmother’s humble apartment.

“When I first found the ring, I thought it was some kind of secret treasure.” He had gasped, even as a child, vaguely aware that it was something unusual, something precious—and something secret, to be tucked away so carefully in the back of a sock drawer. “I put it back right away, but I’d often pull it out in secret at some point during every visit. It was just so beautiful, the pink color, the way the light sparkled through it.”

Atsumu gives a wry smile then. “Granny caught me eventually, but instead of scolding me for going through her stuff, she just looked really sad.” Atsumu had run to her, apologizing, hugging her legs and crying, afraid he had made her mad, but all she did was kneel down and carefully hold Atsumu’s shoulders with her gnarled hands.

“She said: ‘Atsumu, you mustn’t do bad things.’” Her eyes had been so deep and sad in her weathered face, that Atsumu kept crying, but for his grandmother instead of himself. “She said, ‘you’ll pay for them, one way or another.’”

“I thought at the time that she meant going through her things. I actually didn’t learn the whole story until later, after Granny moved in with us when she got older.”

Here, again, Atsumu doesn’t feel like sharing the parts of his own history with Sakusa, as respectful as he is and despite his incredibly soothing appearance. Atsumu’s mother bore twins, but would not bear the abuse of her husband. By the time Atsumu and Osamu were six, they had left that man and that name behind. She remarried Miya-san when they were eight, though he was often out of the country for work. They moved down to Amagasaki in Hyogo, and they entered the local youth volleyball league as the Miya twins.

In middle school, Atsumu and Osamu traveled to Osaka once a week for a volleyball clinic. On those days, their mother never expected them home too early. On the way home, they’d depart from the train a stop early from their transfer, and visit Granny instead.

They learned much during these secret visits: cooking skills, life skills, other things that their mother surely would have taught them too, though she was often busy or asleep. The night shift made her presence more often a suggestion—a used dish, a plate of food to warm up, bento boxes made the night before instead of the morning of.

It was during these visits that the story of their grandma’s life unfolded to them. Not always through her words or lessons. Once, walking home, an old man had called out to them when they left the apartment.

“Your granny was a force to reckon with, back in the day. You should be proud to be her grandsons,” the weathered old man had rasped, then chuckled. Granny’s old friends were still in the neighborhood, they discovered. They’d hear stories about her exploits running errands for her, or just bumming around the area, delaying their return home. Her time as the notorious Light Fingers Haru, her time in prison. Their mother’s time being raised by Granny’s odd collection of friends.

To Atsumu and Osamu, Granny was like a folk hero, a noble renegade. It was romantic, then. 

In their third year of middle school, they stopped going to that volleyball clinic, focusing on their high school entrance exams. Towards the end of the year, they received a call.

“Granny’s health started deteriorating. Dementia,” Atsumu says, with a little helpless shrug. Sakusa’s mouth quirks in sympathy, and Atsumu warms at the gesture.

“She moved to our house in Amagasaki. It was like a cold war between mom and her, but I loved having her live with us.”

“Towards the end of high school I was tinkering with the idea of going pro for volleyball right away. Mom disagreed.” Vehemently. Atsumu understands why, even agrees with most of her reasons now, but sixteen-year-old Atsumu was more angry at being told ‘no’ than at the whys or hows. “We had a huge argument about it. I said something dumb like ‘I’m going to live like Granny, proud, with my head held high no matter what life throws at me!’ And I ran out of the house.”

(Around the same time, Osamu told Atsumu he wouldn’t be joining him in volleyball after high school. He felt a little sensitive and short-fused, to say the least.)

“Granny overheard me, and she followed me out. She was so upset. I had never seen her like that. She told me not to idolize her, that she wasn’t any kind of hero,” Atsumu says. “She told me the whole story behind the ring, and why she always said ‘you mustn’t do anything bad.’” 

Atsumu winces at the memory. How painful it must be to tell your grandchild, someone who looks up to you, such a difficult part of your past.

“Anyways. That’s why I know the story. My brother ended up helping me make a big serving of curry to apologize to mom. And I’m going to college, as you can see,” he gestures to himself with a lazy sweep of his arms. “Granny died when I was a third year. I don’t know if she ever told anyone else about the ring. I think I’m the only one who knows—Mom would’ve gotten rid of it if she knew, I’m sure.”

Atsumu finishes his story and his throat feels like sandpaper. It was much longer re-telling it than he ever thought it would be, but Sakusa doesn’t look upset. He listened patiently and attentively the whole time.

Before he can lose his nerve, Atsumu places his hands down on the table, and bows low over it, forehead almost kissing the polished wood surface.

“Please, I want to find the original owner of the ring. Would you help me?” he pleads. “I figured there must be records of the ring somewhere, since it’s a precious item, but I have no idea where to look. I tried searching old newspaper articles for any mention of the young woman and the train, but I couldn’t find anything there either.”

Atsumu waits for Sakusa’s reply with his head bowed, eyes scrunched closed in a kind of silent prayer to the gods and the benevolence of the god-like man before him.

Granny deserves to rest in peace. She had a tough life, tougher than most, he’s sure, but she survived. And she was so much more than a hero to Atsumu. She was his anchor. When he was younger, kids made fun of him and Osamu all the time. Osamu for needing help when he was sick, and Atsumu being his helper all the time.

When he cried to Granny about it during one of their weekend stays, she had said, “Atsumu, I’m so proud of you. You know, your name means ‘to help someone, to give support.’ Whether that’s your brother, or someone else in need, I know you are the type to give it your all for someone else, and that is truly valuable.”

Lost in memory, Atsumu startles a bit when Sakusa places his bottle of water back down with a dull thunk. He pulls himself up from the bow and watches the other carefully. 

Sakusa looks out the window again in thought, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. His fingers tap a nervous dance on his knuckles. Atsumu observes it all, endlessly fascinated with all the quirks of the man before him.

Finally he snaps his head back to lock eyes with Atsumu. 

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet in Kobe,” he says, dark eyes locking with Atsumu’s own.

“Kobe? Hyogo?” Atsumu says with disbelief. Back home? Could it really be so simple…did Sakusa already know the original owner?

“Yes. From here on, I’ll not be treating you as a client, but rather as an acquaintance. Is that okay, Miya-kun?”

“Only if you call me Atsumu,” he replies automatically.

Sakusa’s eyes narrow a bit, but he acquiesces again. “That’s right. Atsumu-kun, then. When are you free next? You’re a university athlete, and you work part-time on top of that, correct?”

“Um. Well, I’m free on Sundays, but my schedule isn’t set yet at work, so almost any weekend if I don’t have a practice or game is probably okay.” Atsumu answers.

“Then, I’ll see you this Sunday, at 10 a.m. sharp. Tokyo station, Yaesu exit.” His eyes flick down to the box once more, and then back to Atsumu. “Bring the ring.”

With that, Sakusa gathers his things and sweeps out of the store with a polite nod and farewell.

Atsumu remains at the table, sipping his now-lukewarm coffee, lost in thought.

===

Atsumu holds his phone to his ear, counting out the number of rings it takes until the other end picks up.

“Hello, Atsumu? Is something wrong? You keep calling,” comes his mother’s voice after the third try. She sounds a little harried, but not stressed.

“Hey Mom. Um, I might be around for dinner on Sunday, if that’s okay?”

“—Osamu, don’t forget to buy rice on the way home!” She calls, voice sounding a little distant from the mouthpiece. She must be on the way out to work. He’ll text Osamu later. “Sorry, I’m just about to head out the door. Of course you’re always welcome home, but I don’t expect you to use your hard-earned money on train tickets down here all the time either. Is there any special reason?”

She sounds curious, but she also doesn’t sound like she expects a straight answer from Atsumu. For all his stunts in high school, and all of his and Osamu’s childhood spats, their mom always held an even keel with them, never being too overbearing, never being too distant. She raised them as independent as herself, probably not knowing any other way.

Atsumu debates how to bring this up. It’s not like his mother _needs_ to know, necessarily. As far as she knows, Atsumu doesn’t know about the ring. He’s not sure how much his mother knows about it either. When Granny moved in with them, the ring was buried in a small box in a larger chest she brought with her. The box only had one other item—an old prison tag. The last time Atsumu visited home, the chest remained, but the box was gone.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, honey, but make it quick if you can, I’ve got a bus to catch.”

“It’s about Granny…” Atsumu tries, but all he hears is silence.

After a few tense moments, she answers him with a carefully neutral tone. “What about her?”

“Um,” Atsumu is fast losing courage here. “I was wondering, well, how much you knew about her life?”

She was her daughter. She probably knows more than Atsumu, frankly, but Atsumu can’t retract the question now.

His mom sighs. “Atsumu, I have to go now. We can talk about this later, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom. Please take care at work. I’ll see you and Samu on Sunday.”

===

**Samu:** Oi, what did you say to mom??

 **Me:** What

 **Samu:** She just left for work looking pretty pissed or something, idk.

 **Me:** I’ll explain later. I’m coming home Sunday.

 **Samu:** Bring souvenirs!!! 

**Me:** You wish you glutton

 **Samu:** Might as well if you’re gonna have to grovel in front of mom anyways. You brought up Granny, didn’t you

 **Me:** …

 **Samu:** I’ll text you a list of shops.

===

Atsumu runs up to the Yaesu entrance at 10:07 a.m. on Sunday. He’s empty-handed except for his bag—he worked a closing shift last night, and forgot about Osamu’s request until it was too late.

Sakusa is already there, of course, and though he stands fairly out of the way of the crowd, people still seem to walk past him awfully close. Atsumu can’t tell because of the face mask Sakusa has on, but he doesn’t look particularly thrilled by this. He must really dislike crowds.

Today, the suit is a light blue. Instead of his rolling case, he has a sleek leather shoulder bag and carries a gift bag of some sort by his side. Atsumu belatedly wonders if he should have dressed up a little more for wherever they’re going, though Sakusa doesn’t seem to give his clothes any particular scrutiny when he runs up.

“You’re late,” Sakusa says instead, using his free hand to hand Atsumu a ticket.

“Sorry—I worked a late shift last night, overslept a bit. I have the ring though!” Atsumu says in a rush, tapping the bag at his chest. Sakusa looks like he wants to lean back from Atsumu’s outburst, but instead he tips his head towards the entrance and they make their way to the platform, buying a bento for Atsumu on the way.

It’s over three hours to Shin-Kobe station, and Sakusa entertains Atsumu for exactly none of it. He sits down in the window seat of their row and eats a fluffy fruit sandwich while Atsumu scarfs down the lunchbox. By the time Atsumu finishes his meal, Sakusa is already fast asleep. He had taken his mask off to eat, and now his face stays uncovered.

In the semi-privacy of the seat row, Atsumu is free to observe his companion without judgment. Sakusa is as stunning as any other time they’ve met, but sleep softens his edges. No discerning gaze keeps your own at bay. The curls of his hair rest differently, slightly ruffled. His mouth, which he’s really only seen in some variation of polite smile, neutral, or displeased pout, is relaxed, lips parted ever so slightly—

“What a hot guy!”

Atsumu flinches at the voice, looking back to the aisle where a pair of young women blush and mumble a quick apology (“Sorry, not you,”), hustling along down the aisle with a giggle.

After all the times Atsumu has seen people go out of their way to gawk at Sakusa’s attractiveness in their short acquaintance, he shouldn’t be surprised. Still, a part of him feels a little annoyed at the idea. He debates nudging Sakusa awake to deal with the spectators, but on a closer look he has the hints of dark shadows below his eyes. He must’ve stayed up very late or been up very early to prepare for this trip.

Instead, Sakusa stirs awake right before they pull into the station. They climb into a taxi, and only then does Atsumu really consider where they’re going.

“Um, can I ask who we’re going to see now?”

“You’ll know soon enough, and better to hear it from them than me,” Sakusa answers. It would seem cryptic if he thought Sakusa were the type, but it just sounds matter-of-fact coming from him. Atsumu sighs, settling into the taxi seat begrudgingly.

The taxi travels further from the bustling city center, the houses growing larger and less densely packed. Atsumu wonders at the street they turn down after some time. Stately, Western-style mansions overlook large yards, and there’s a feeling of something like nostalgia, not for him personally, but for a different era. Eventually, the car slows in front of one particular house. It’s equally as grand as any other they’ve passed, but the garden in front is absolutely overflowing with brightly colored blooms and vibrant greenery.

Atsumu stands uncomfortably in front of the gate while Sakusa pays the driver. He feels small, somehow, in front of this grand, colorful place. It’s almost otherworldly with its atmosphere, leagues away from the hustle of his student life in the city, and from the normal place he grew up, even though it’s maybe only an hour to Amagasaki by train.

The large, wrought-iron gate starts to swing open automatically as Sakusa walks up to join Atsumu. As they continue up the drive, passing through the gardens on either side, Atsumu doesn’t know where to look. The elegant mansion ahead? The elaborate floral display? The man ahead of him? It’s overwhelming.

He settles on staring down at the cobblestone path, Sakusa’s feet just in his periphery to guide the way.

“Oh, Sakusa-san?” A woman’s voice calls out. Atsumu flips his gaze up and to the side, and sees a middle-aged woman standing up from one of the garden beds. She looks close to his mother’s age. She’s wearing a sun hat, and brushing dirt from her outfit. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Are you meeting with my husband?”

Sakusa already removed his mask as they exited the taxi, and now he smiles at the woman. 

“Kinoshita-san. I’m here to see your mother-in-law, actually. I’ve brought a guest to meet her,” he says, and gestures to Atsumu. Atsumu, suddenly nervous, straightens and bows politely.

“Miya Atsumu, m’am.”

“Oh my, young man, no need to bow. Please, let me show you two inside.” She smiles warmly at the two of them, and guides them the last stretch of the way to the house, then through the hallways. 

The interior of the house is as richly decorated as the outside would suggest. They pass through neatly appointed rooms, paintings and fine pottery on display, polished wooden furniture, and all other dressings of a fine house. It would sound stuffy describing it to someone else, but the house feels warm, lived in, and cheerful.

When they reach a room in the back with large french doors, Kinoshita-san knocks gently, then opens the door.

“Mother, I’ve brought your guests,” she calls in, then beckons the two of them forward. “I’ll bring some tea for you all in a bit.”

It’s a large room, painted light blue and decorated with airy colors and dainty objects. Tall windows along the edges let in abundant sunlight. Sheer white curtains flutter by the open ones. At one end, an elegant older woman sits in a wheelchair. With her white hair swept up in an elegant bun, her refined clothing, and gentle smile, she exudes beauty and grace. She greets them warmly.

“Sakusa-san, it’s always a pleasure to see you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Kinoshita-sama,” Sakusa says, with a deep bow. He looks as though he could be at a royal court with the way he moves. “I’ve brought the young man we spoke about.”

Belatedly, Atsumu bows, and almost stutters his introduction. “I’m Miya Atsumu. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Kinoshita Aya,” she says, and looks at Atsumu carefully. “Sakusa-san told me about you over the phone. I believe you’ve heard about me?”

This woman...she must be the same young woman his grandmother saw at the train station. The original owner of the ring. Atsumu can’t believe it, but everything he’s seen so far seems to confirm it. Incredible. That was over fifty years ago. Atsumu glances at Sakusa, who nods minutely in reassurance. He knew where to find her, just like that?

“Atsumu-kun, please tell Kinoshita-sama the same story you told me. Well, perhaps shorter, if possible.”

“Nonsense, Sakusa-san, let the boy say his piece,” Kinoshita-san beckons Atsumu closer, and motions for him to take a seat on the couch near her. “Now, young man, please tell me your story.”

Atsumu sits down, and starts his account, the same one he told Sakusa, all the way up to their encounter in Yoyogi Park, and the strange fate that seemed to lead him here.

By the time he finishes, the younger Kinoshita-san had come and gone with tea for them, and Atsumu’s cup sits untouched, already cool to the touch. Kinoshita-san wipes tears from her cheeks. Atsumu, belatedly, looks around for Sakusa. He’s standing behind the couch, impassive, but watching the proceedings carefully. When he meets Atsumu’s gaze, he points at his own chest. Oh, that’s right. The ring.

Atsumu digs into his bag and pulls out the box while Kinoshita-san gathers herself. When she looks back at Atsumu, he opens and holds out the box for her.

“Kinoshita-san, this is long overdue, but please accept this with the greatest apologies from me, on behalf of my Granny.”

Kinoshita-san smiles, clasping Atsumu’s hands in her own around the box. Then, she gently folds Atsumu’s hands over the ring, and pushes his hands back towards him.

“Atsumu-kun, this belongs to you, now.”

Before he can protest, she starts her own story.

It was set at the same time as his grandmother’s story, but in a different world, one with business and politics piling a heavy burden on a young woman’s shoulders. Kinoshita-san’s struggles weren’t defined by making rent or providing food, but they were distressing all the same. 

Though her family’s business flourished after the war, they overreached, and soon fell into heavy debt. It was a life-or-death situation to her family. The solution her father came up with was to betroth his daughter to the president of a rival company. He was nearly three decades her senior, and a known philanderer.

The man presented the ring to her as an engagement gift—one that cost more money than she could fathom at the time. It felt like a collar, like her life was over before she could even imagine its possibilities.

One day, just two months before the wedding, she boarded a train, aimlessly wandering the city, lost in thought. At some point, she looked down and realized the ring was gone.

“It was a relief. That ring was nothing more than a curse to me at the time,” Kinoshita-san says, smiling again. Atsumu scarcely breathes, so caught in the story. 

“Of course, my family wasn’t pleased. My father was livid. And still I felt nothing. After that, I realized I wasn’t any use to my family if I couldn’t care about this, and didn’t see the point in living anymore.” She says it without tragedy, though Atsumu feels the weight of her words heavy on his own chest.

“I nearly succeeded at the train station the next day. But, I survived. The witnesses said it was a miracle, but from that point onwards I was an even greater burden to my family than before. I could no longer walk, the marriage was called off, and they confined me to a tiny hospital room. I thought that would be the view for the rest of my life.

“But you know, life has a funny way of working out. It was there that a young, handsome doctor took a liking to me.” She smiles, and Atsumu can see the genuine happiness radiating from it.

She has a son, and a grandson now. They live together with his family and her husband in this grand estate. 

Granny never smiled like that. She wore her sins with a kind of quiet acceptance, etched into every line on her face, even the crow’s feet and smile lines from life’s later joys for her.

Atsumu feels like crying. Kinoshita-san gives him a worried look. “Are you okay, Atsumu-kun?”

Her kindness is almost too much to bear.

“Please,” Atsumu says, bowing his head once more. “Please, take the ring. Granny...my grandmother never forgave herself, I think, and she kept the ring because of that. I want her to rest in peace. Please, take it.”

Silence. Atsumu doesn’t want to look at Kinoshita-san, or at Sakusa, or really anything right now. He looks down at the floor, the dainty floral pattern woven into the carpet a welcome distraction.

A hand enters his field of view, and Kinoshita-san gently guides Atsumu’s chin up.

“Atsumu-kun, do you know much about jewels? Has Sakusa-san told you anything?”

Atsumu can only muster a small head shake, afraid to speak.

“Well, they’re truly fascinating. Did you know that gems have meanings? Similar to the language of the flowers, every jewel has a meaning as well. Though, I’ve heard the meaning can change depending on the country or culture,” she looks over Atsumu’s shoulder, and Atsumu follows her gaze to Sakusa. “What is the meaning of this pink sapphire, Sakusa-san?”

“Justice for the weak. To help and support those in need.”

To help. To support. Atsumu.

Kinoshita-san pats Atsumu’s cheek gently, much like Granny used to do when he was a small child.

“Atsumu-kun, in those days, your grandmother, your mother, myself, my family, we were all in need of help. But nobody saved us. We just had to try and live through the suffering. It’s the same for many even now.”

“But Granny—it’s her fault that—”

“Rather than fault, I’d say it was fate. I have never once resented your grandmother for what she did. Atsumu-kun, please continue to help others, as you helped Sakusa-san. When you see this jewel, remember my request. And if you could, please bring a message to your grandmother’s altar for me: ‘Thank you. Please let this burden go, and rest well.’”

===

Atsumu is an emotive person. People used to say that he and Samu were complete opposites in some ways; they could never tell what Samu was thinking, his face almost always in a sleepy deadpan, while Atsumu’s face broadcast every high and low.

He manages to keep in the tears until they leave, but they start rolling down his face against his will as soon as the gate shuts behind him. 

Beside him, Sakusa says nothing, merely pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and passes it to Atsumu.

They take a taxi back to the train station. By the time they arrive, Atsumu regains his composure, though he’s sure his cheeks are ruddy and eyes are rimmed red. Osamu will have a field day as soon as he sees him.

“Here,” Sakusa says at the entrance to the platform, handing over the mysterious gift bag he’s carried for the trip. Atsumu will catch a different train towards Sannomiya, then a local line back to Amagasaki.

Atsumu takes it tentatively, peeking inside. There’s an assortment of boxes, all with high-end confectionary stores’ or bakeries’ logos. 

“What’s this?” Atsumu sniffs. It smells heavenly.

“A gift.”

“I can’t eat all this!”

“I didn’t say it was all for you. You’re going home now, right?” Sakusa looks to the side with an air of indifference. His train is pulling up. “I imagine you and your mother have things to talk about.”

Ah, so that’s what this is about. Atsumu appreciates the gesture, especially since he forgot about Osamu’s request.

“Oh, right. The train fare—” Atsumu fumbles for his wallet and the amount printed on his ticket. He just noticed now that Sakusa bought his ticket separately with a different return trip. Really thinking of everything, this man.

Sakusa gives him a funny look. “You’re really conscientious, aren’t you.” He waves Atsumu off, turning to board his train. “No need, it was part of the request.”

“This is too much, really!” Atsumu calls back. He suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for how much Sakusa must have done to orchestrate all of this.

Sakusa is already at the door, and gives him a nod. “We’ll talk again soon, Atsumu-kun.”

===

“Osamu’s not home yet, you know,” Atsumu’s mom says when she surveys the spread of treats.

“Well, good thing none of this’ll go bad then. He’ll help you finish it up in no time, I’m sure,” Atsumu replies, snagging a flaky looking pastry. His mom sets a cup of tea down in front of him, and joins him at the table.

She gives him a long, searching look that Atsumu pretends not to see. “So. What’s the occasion?”

Atsumu picks at the flakes on his pastry, stalling for time. Then, he sighs, and pulls out the box from his sweater pocket, placing it on the table.

“Do you know about this?”

His mom’s expression goes from cautious to conflicted in an instant. “I do.”

“And the lady?”

“A little. Does Osamu know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Neither does your father.” Miya-san, she means. Atsumu is sure she never would have told their birth father, or the ring wouldn’t be in their possession anymore. She sighs. “I knew you took it when you went to school, but I don’t mind. It’s not something that I want anything to do with.”

“But you kept it anyway?”

“Well. There are some things you can’t just throw away,” she says with a little huff, biting rather fiercely into her pastry. It’s clear she doesn’t want to go into the details, and Atsumu is tired of the storytelling from the last couple days. He has one question, though.

“Did Granny name me?”

She looks up, surprised, mouth still full. She swallows quickly. “Why?”

“Just been thinking, lately, that might be the case.”

Haruyo. Naomi. Osamu. They all share the same kanji—Atsumu is the odd one out. He always thought maybe his name came from their birth father, or some other painful explanation.

“Well, I thought it was nice too,” she smiles a little wryly, “but yes, she suggested it.”

As it turns out, his name is a wish like any other—one he bears for his grandmother’s sake. Atsumu lets out a breath of relief, one he feels like he’s been holding inside since middle school.

“But you couldn’t forgive her?”

“We’re family. It wasn’t a matter of forgiveness. She did what she had to do for both our sakes. She didn’t have to.”

Atsumu shakes his head. “No, she had to. She did it because of you, right? You gave her a reason to keep living.”

Granny broke the law. She went to prison for it. She probably hurt more people than childhood-Atsumu’s romanticized idea of thievery allows.

She probably didn’t regret it, despite everything, because of her daughter.

Maybe the only people who really could really say it was truly wrong were his mom and his grandmother.

“I was never going to thank your grandmother for doing that in order for us to live. Neither of us could bear that, you know,” Naomi says.

She sips her tea angrily, but tears roll down her cheeks. She must look like Atsumu did earlier. Atsumu searches for the tissues, and gets up to hand her the box. She had Atsumu and Osamu in her mid thirties. She was older, tougher than the other moms that they knew. She was always fighting something.

Atsumu sits back down and drinks his tea. His mom places another dessert on her plate. Osamu always liked sweets more than Atsumu, but it is clear where they got their taste for sweets.

Their conversation slowly, awkwardly meanders back towards mundane things. Atsumu will tell the rest of his story eventually, but not today.

Osamu arrives home when Atsumu is in front of the altar for their grandmother. He hears his brother calling out for their mom and him, then exclaiming at the spread of food on the table. Beside him, his mother shifts slightly, but he knows she’s earnestly praying as well. Atsumu just focuses on thinking about the message he has from Kinoshita-san, and on holding his hands delicately together, like a lotus bud.

===

It’s Atsumu’s third time in Ginza, but instead of a fancy cafe, he’s in a cozy sitting room in a private office building. Four comfortable chairs form a quaint sitting area around a low table. A grandfather clock ticks away behind it. Low bookshelves hug the walls, and large windows on one wall let in abundant sunlight. It looks more like some kind of fancy parlor than a jewelry store, but this is the address of _Jewelry Étoile_ , according to Sakusa. The man himself enters from a side hallway, bearing a tray with two tea cups. He places one in front of Atsumu.

Sakusa texted Atsumu a few days after their trip, saying the results of the appraisal were ready, if he would please come to such and such location at his earliest convenience. He also mentioned that he would be willing to buy the ring, if Atsumu no longer wanted it.

“I think you already know my answer, but I’m not selling the ring,” Atsumu starts with, after thanking Sakusa for the tea. He takes a sip. It’s sweet, but delicious. Milk tea, surprisingly enough.

Sakusa nods in understanding. “I thought as much,” he says, taking a sip from his own cup. It’s the first time Atsumu has seen him drink anything other than bottled water. Rather than discussing sales or the jewel’s worth though, Atsumu has something else he’d rather know.

“How much did you already know?” 

Sakusa puts down his cup and looks thoughtfully at Atsumu.

“I have known the Kinoshita family for a number of years. I heard mention of Kinoshita-san’s ill-fated first engagement and the lost jewel some time ago. I suspected the moment you showed me the ring, but the specialist confirmed that the polish, cut, and manufacturing date matched her story exactly. From the start, a Padparadscha from that time period in Japan has little opportunity for misidentification. I sent a photo to Kinoshita-sama, and she insisted on meeting you in person.”

“Pa—papa-what now?”

"Padparadscha. It’s Sinhalese, for ‘lotus flower.’ It describes sapphires with that unique pink-orange hue. They are mostly from Sri Lanka. Sinhala is an official language there.”

Geography has never been Atsumu’s strong subject, and Sakusa must read his confusion.

“It’s a small island nation in the Indian Ocean, near India.”

Atsumu nods, satisfied with the answer, but he has one more question. “You said the ring _‘may have’_ been stolen, after my first request. But if you already had suspicions, why not just tell me right away?”

“I didn’t know your true intentions,” Sakusa answers plainly. He takes another sip of tea, and Atsumu waits for him to elaborate. “Jewelry is a business ripe with fraud, after all. Not all resellers will have the provenance, or origin, of their pieces. A scammer often will use the ‘family heirloom’ line too. It was far more likely that you were entirely unrelated to Kinoshita-sama’s story. Asking you in a vague way would make it clear if you had ill intentions. As it turns out, though, you’re much too honest.”

“...I see.” It seems that Atsumu really has no concept of the world of gems, but he’s glad that Sakusa took this job. He’s glad that he ran into Sakusa at all.

They both sip their tea for a moment, and then Sakusa addresses Atsumu once more.

“Pardon my tangent here, but my grandmother was born in a place called Ratnapura, in Sri Lanka. Until recently, it was the only place in the world where Padparadscha gems could be mined.”

Atsumu looks to Sakusa for confirmation. That means that—

“Yes,” Sakusa nods, “The gem in your grandmother’s ring is from my grandmother’s hometown. Interesting, isn’t it, how a gem goes from a mine in Sri Lanka, to a setting in Europe, and all the way back to Japan? I have to wonder if this is what people mean by ‘some kind of fate’.”

By the time he finishes that sentence, Sakusa is staring deep into Atsumu’s eyes from across the table. Atsumu sort of wants to combust on the spot, but Sakusa spares him by looking down and reaching over to place a clearfile on the table.

“I have a proposition for you,” he starts, and Atsumu picks up the file curiously. Inside are the appraisal documents, and curiously, what looks like an employee contract. “I’m planning on using this space as a sort of shop, if you will, Rather than displaying jewels, however, it will be a place to meet clients comfortably. I’m looking for a part-time worker. Just miscellaneous chores, and helping serve clients tea and refreshments. It will only be open on the weekends, and you can certainly work around your athletic schedule too.”

Atsumu hears all of this as he skims the contract, and nearly chokes at the proposed salary. It’s well above what he earns at the izakaya, and with much better hours too. It sounds too good to be true—but only for him.

“That’s...very generous of you, and I’m interested for sure. But, I have to ask, Sakusa-san, why me? Surely there are more, erm, qualified candidates…” Atsumu trails off.

“You can clean? Basic kitchen skills?”

Atsumu nods to both mindlessly.

“That’s enough, then. I will be the one handling client interactions, so there is no need to know much about gems. Though, if you’re willing to learn, I can certainly oblige,” Sakusa says, and smiles. It’s blinding, more so than the sun streaming through the windows.

Atsumu feels the prickle of a blush creeping up his neck. Having such a beautiful person trying to convince him to change jobs is a new thing.

“Besides,” Sakusa goes on, oblivious to Atsumu’s internal battle, “you are more than qualified in one respect. True, almost anyone could help me with basic store maintenance and serving tea. But the ability to recognize and treasure something beautiful is your greatest ability here. Beauty is not so easily defined, after all, so to appreciate it is a true talent. Your sincerity is a bonus.”

“Wait, how did you know that I think you’re—” _Beautiful_. Atsumu chokes on his own thoughts.

Sakusa’s eyes widen slightly in shock, mouth agape. He coughs a little, looking to the side. Atsumu blushes in earnest now, color undoubtedly high on his cheeks. Sakusa meant the ring. He was referring to how Atsumu kept the ring safe all this time. Atsumu wants to wail with embarrassment, but he saves the mortification breakdown for later.

When Sakusa looks back at Atsumu, he looks as unruffled as ever. “So, is that a yes, then?”

“Yes,” Atsumu finally manages to say, nodding enthusiastically.

“Then, please read over the documents there thoroughly. There will be some more paperwork for insurance purposes as well, but we can do that when you have your seal on hand, next time.”

“Understood, Boss! Or would you prefer Sakusa-san, still?” Atsumu asks.

Sakusa stands up, and re-buttons his suit jacket. “If it’s all the same to you, actually, I prefer my first name.”

Atsumu almost trips standing up to meet him. “Ah, um. I don’t think there’s very many places here where you’d hear an employee use their boss’ first name.” He rubs his neck self-consciously.

“If you think about it globally though, wouldn’t you say that ‘here’ is in the minority?”

That’s right, Sakusa is...British, was it? He is so fluent in both the language and the customs of Japan that Atsumu nearly forgot. The British, apparently part Sri-Lankan, strikingly beautiful, mysterious jeweler is an enigma, to say the least.

“Um, I suppose you’re right,” Atsumu acknowledges. “Then, er, Kiyoomi-san?”

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” Sakusa says lightly, and holds out his hand for Atsumu to shake. “Then, Atsumu-kun, I look forward to working with you.”

Atsumu grasps his hand, and bows his head gratefully. “Please take care of me, Kiyoomi-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions of domestic abuse:** Atsumu mentions that his and Osamu's birth father was abusive. This is a recurring plot point, though it is not discussed in detail at this time. Please be advise for future chapters.  
>  **Mentions of attempted suicide/permanent injury:** The original owner of the ring attempted suicide by jumping in front of a train after she lost it. She survived, but can no longer walk.
> 
> \---
> 
> Whew. That was a lot of internal dialogue, which is true in the original story, and was difficult to adapt here. I hope I broke it up well and still did the story justice. This first chapter really sets up Atsumu's role in the story for later chapters, so apologies if it is a bit dry! There are many other characters and much more drama (ha) to come. 
> 
> Name kanji information pulled from [this site:](https://japanese-names.info/)  
> Atsumu - "侑" is help someone.  
> Osamu - "治" is govern.  
> Naomi - "治" is govern. "実" is fruit, kindness.  
> Haruyo - "治" is govern. "夜" is night.
> 
> \---  
> As always, please come say hi on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/tirralirralirra) Yell at me about Haikyuu or Jeweler Richard ;)
> 
> I will also eventually link a thread of more notes for this fic (possibly per chapter) here when it's ready.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been formulating this AU since...*checks drafts* June, at least. 
> 
> At the beginning of 2020 I was deep, DEEP into The Case Files of Jeweler Richard series. Then along came post-time skip Sakusa and Atsumu, and the rest, as they say, is history.
> 
> This is an AU near and dear to my heart. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> If you know the series Jeweler Richard, then you know that this basically wrote itself in some aspects of the dynamics between Sakusa and Atsumu.
> 
> \---  
> Some notes for this story overall:  
> -This will be updating slowly—probably around once a month. This is the prologue. Chapter one should be up in the next week.  
> -This will draw heavily from the plot of Jeweler Richard (both the novels and the anime), but hopefully will have enough of a twist/flair to be its own story and enjoyable to fans of both. You do not have to know the JR series to understand this story, however I highly recommend it!  
> -I am referencing a [fan translation](https://jewelryetrangertranslations.home.blog/) of the novels at times, but I am being mindful to not deliberately lift language from those translations. If it seems like I missed something with respect to this, please let me know! >.<  
> -Tags will update with each chapter! There will be many characters and pairings in this story, as it is largely episodic.  
> - **There will be fairly triggering content in later chapters; tags will be updated as needed and warnings will be posted with every chapter’s notes.**
> 
> \---
> 
> As always, feel free to come say hi to me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tirralirralirra/status/1345311467525050368?s=20) I will likely start a thread of notes for this fic and add to it as I go for each chapter posting.


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